Who Can Decide What They Dream?
by pyro-pixiechik
Summary: In his sleep, he dreams of her. He dreams of having her in ways he shouldn't. But why? One-shot, with potential to expand. Rated M, just to be safe.
**Hey guys! This is my first fic in like a decade. I'm currently in a Star Wars kick right now, and thought I'd hop on the bandwagon. This little one-shot was inspired by one of Perry Downing's fics and the songs "#1 Crush" by Garbage and "Taking Over Me" by Evanescence, from which a line is used as the title. It's also the first time I've written anything of this nature. Anyway, hope you guys like it!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.**

The first night he woke from dreaming of her, he brushed them off, assuming that his mind was taunting him. Showing him images of a certain young, rough-around-the-edges scavenger girl. Showing her vertically restrained, wrists and ankles bound, her blue green eyes fearful yet defiant at the same time, lips parted, chest heaving slightly as she breathed. Strands of hair matted to her face. He dreamed of reaching out to touch her cheek, her lips, and her collarbone, and of her moaning softly when she feels him. Silently begging for more of him.

He saw her turn her head, bare her throat to him willingly. He saw himself trailing his lips down her neck, down her chest. He tasted her, and tasted her, and always, she would give herself over to him, ready to give him whatever he should next desire. Then daylight came and he wrote it off as his brain cracking under stress.

The second time he dreams is a few nights later. This one lasts longer, is more plot-based, though the subject matter hardly deviated. He dreamt he is back in that forest, chasing her. No, hunting her. She runs ahead of him, though not by far. He can hear her breath coming out in ragged gasps and pants. A strange wave of what could only be described as thrill washes over him. And then he is suddenly in front of her, backing her against a tree. With his mind, he immobilizes her body. He tilts his head, considering her. She stares back at him, into the soulless visage of his mask. Wide-eyed, but not afraid. He feels her mind, and she almost snarls into his, her lip actually curling. Her pupils dilate and for a second, he senses a plethora of emotions emanating from her. Anger. Hatred. Defiance. Revulsion. A hint of fear. Loneliness. Despair. Desire.

His eyes widen behind the mask at this last unexpected emotion and his hand drops, freeing her from his hold. And then he finds her in his personal space, and she gazes into the eyes of the mask, that shield he wears between him and the world. Before he even knows what's happening, she has unfastened it and it's now laying forlornly in the snow. Her bright eyes are peering at his own now. He expects to see all that hate and anger and revulsion in them.

He doesn't. He doesn't even feel them coming from her. Instead, she feels calm, serene, even.

She's touching the side of his face now, tilting her head in contemplation, studying him. Slowly, she stands on tiptoe and ghosts her lips against his jawline.

"Rey..." he breathes as she steps back

But she just touches a finger to his lips.

"Shhh..."

She is gone when he blinks and he wakes up feeling empty. No, hungry. For her.

The dreams continued on in this vein for a few more days before changing again back to the interrogation room. But something else changed too. She was only restrained at the waist, he noticed as he did his customary pace in front of her. They regard each other silently when he stops in front of her. He hears her breathing, and the sound nearly drowns him. He needs to feel her.

"Ben..."

Slowly, she raises her arm, hand stretching toward him, and his will is all but gone to the stars. Abandoning his mask, he closes in on her. The restraint on her waist unlocks. Her offered hand brushes the hair from his cheek and he leans into her touch. He knows he won't have the strength to resist much longer.

He catches her eyes, bright and hazel in contrast to his own dark ones. They draw him closer to her until they are only inches apart. The silence is deafening now. He's sure she could hear his heart, now thumping hard against his ribcage. She raises her other hand and touches his other cheek, cupping his face. He closes his eyes. Oh Force, he can't fight this anymore.

 _So don't fight_ , her eyes seem to say.

In a swift movement, the little distance between their bodies closes and their lips meet, almost shyly. He somehow knows it's only in his head, but he swears he could taste her lips. They taste of pain, of loneliness, but also of the desert, of the forest, and the ocean. He wants more of her.

He blinks. Now they are in his private bedchamber, and she is laying sprawled atop his bed. He climbs over her, his hands sliding up her arms to interlace his fingers in hers. He lowers himself gently, kisses her mouth hungrily, before trailing his lips to her neck. He feels her writhe underneath him, feels her disentangle her hands from his, only to entangle them in his hair. Encouraging him. So he obliges by undoing her sash and exposing her body to him. He continues to kiss her skin, trailing lower and lower down her body.

At this point, the dream becomes frantic and fragmented. All he could see was her tanned skin against his own paleness, their bodies bare and mingling together. And all he could hear were moans falling from their mouths as he buried himself within her in desparation, in a need to have all of her...

He woke up, gasping and sweating and hard. What was happening to him? Ruthless commanders of the First Order weren't supposed to be plagued by such things. He got out of bed and headed to the refresher. Standing at the basin, he splashed night-chilled water on his face, trying to calm his mind and erase any thoughts on that desert scavenger. Somehow, it wasn't working. He leaned his forehead against the mirror and closed his eyes. The smooth and rigid surface was able to distract him from his still-hungry body, and for a moment, he stopped imagining her and all the things he desired with her. Slowly, he inhaled and exhaled.

For a moment, he forgot about her on the interrogation table, in the forest, on his bed. He forgot about her touches, their kisses, their hearts beating as one. He forgot about her eyes, and the way they looked as she held out her hand to him, welcoming him in.

For a moment, he forgot about loving her.

Inhaling deeply, he opened his eyes, straightened out his night clothes and headed back to bed. As he laid down again, he sighed. He needed to get this out of his system.

After all, how could she ever love the leader of The Knights of Ren?

 **The End!**

 **How was that, guys? Think I should expand on this and make it into a full fic?**


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